


and if i'm gone tomorrow

by moldymilk



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Character Death, Implied Period Typical Homophobia, M/M, kinda sad but also not ??, mentions of drinking and fights, the boys get Reunited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:09:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12693900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moldymilk/pseuds/moldymilk
Summary: prompt: The kiss promps thing with sprace 11 please??? You're the best(when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more)-Race dies of old age and a familiar face greets him in the afterlife





	and if i'm gone tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> guess who's back to writing every day

The sun rising just outside of his window. His granddaughter and his adoptive son gripping his hands, their wives standing worriedly by their sides. The beeping of the monitor slowing. All of those things, Antonio “Racetrack” Higgins’ last memories, faded away into a bright white light.

 

His joints ached no more. His chest no longer convulsed due to coughing. His hair was no longer white, now a golden blonde. The hospital robe which he wore upon his passing was replaced by the ratty yet comfortable clothing he had worn for most of his teen years. Race was young again, just like he had been back in 1899. 

 

The first thing to emerge from the peaceful void was a newspaper, titled “The Newsies Banner”. Memories of people he hadn’t thought of in decades came flooding back: shoes with holes racing through the streets of New York City, a house filled to the brim with teenage boys just trying to scrape by, the laughter of the boys at the docks.

 

The second thing to emerge was the thing that had placed him where he was now: a cigar. But that one was the first one he had ever had, the one he had never lit. It was just as he remembered it, down to the bite marks his teeth had once left. Naturally, as he got older, he began to light his cigars, then those cigars turned into cigarettes, then those cigarettes into ruined lungs.

 

The third thing didn’t emerge, the void just melted away around it, and Race was back at his namesake, the Sheepshead Races. It all sounded the same as he remembered it: shouting from every direction, people placing bets, others discussing theirs. The races were like a second home to him, they were where he made a living until he moved away. Then the Sheepshead Races were gone, and everything was the void again.

 

After what seemed like years, the void disappeared for the last time, and he was on the Brooklyn docks, a place he hadn’t been for decades. He looked around, taking it all in, until he heard a voice yell, “Higgins!”

 

The voice was familiar. It was one he hadn’t heard since 1901, yet it was one he could never forget. The owner of the voice jumped down from his perch on top of some old crates, revealing himself to be none other than Spot Conlon. “I would’a bet real money you would’a made it to a hundred. And you know me, I wouldn’t bet unless my life depended on it,” he remarked, his Brooklyn accent thick as ever.

 

“Spottie! To what pleasure do I owe this?” Race retorted, the sarcasm showing in his face melting away as he threw his arms around the younger boy, holding tightly as if he was the only thing that mattered, “I missed you, Conlon. But if ya’ tell anyone I’ll soak ya’,” he added.

 

“I’se supposed to tell you that you’se dead, you’se in the after life, blah blah blah. ‘S all boring, really. I’ll show you around later. I want to know everything about your life, starting from the day you left,” Spot confessed, his arms wrapped around Race’s waist. 

 

“Spot, I didn’t-” Race began, only to be cut off by Spot.

 

“Want to leave. I know. I heard you say it a million times, and I’m sure you’se gonna say it a million more. It’s okay that you left, Racey. You got to live out a full ‘nd happy life,” He comforted.

 

“You didn’t?” Race asked, concerned.

 

“You sure you’s ready to hear about my death?” Spot fired back, as his death, despite being eighty one years prior to Race’s, was still a sore subject. But if Race wanted to hear about it, then he would begrudgingly talk about it.

 

“You sure you’s ready to talk about it?” Race countered. After all of those years, Spot had almost forgotten how much Race had cared about him.

 

“‘S been eighty one years, Racer. I guess I gotta tell someone sometime,” Spot admitted.

 

“Eighty one years? Spot, that wouldn’t be more than a year after I left,” Race realized, mentally connecting the dots.

 

“Three days, actually,” Spot shared.

 

“Jesus,” He replied, not quite knowing what to say. More dots connected, and he realized that why he had never heard anything about the fearsome Spot Conlon again.

 

“After you left, even just a few days before, actually,  I- I didn’t know what to do with myself,” He began, resting his head in his hands. Unknowingly, his eyes filled with tears, “I started drinking. Getting into fights. Almost everything, ‘cept gambling. ‘Cause gambling was your thing, and I couldn’t do it without thinkin’ of you. So I kept getting into fights. I’d get beat up in some alley ‘cause I wouldn’t put up a fight, get knocked out, wake up, ‘nd go back to the lodgin’ house. Then one day I just didn’t wake up,” Spot shrugged, a tear rolling down his cheek. Race gently wiped it away.

 

“I- Spot- You were seventeen. Fuck, you weren’t even fully grown. Spot. I’m sorry. I should’a stayed. You could’a lived, and loved, and had a family, but I left. I’m sorry, Spottie,” Race rushed out, his words stumbling over each other as emotions rushed out, “You were s’posed to have a future, you were supposed to own Brooklyn. What about your dreams, Sean? Those were ripped from you too. Jesus, you were young. Too young. It should’a-” He continued, but Spot cut him off.

 

“If you finish that sentence the way I’m thinking you’s gonna finish that sentence I’ll soak ya, Antonio. It was me for a reason. And seventeen wasn’t too young, I jus’ lived a little faster than most. ‘S longer than I expected. I lived. It was shitty and I had to cheat, but I lived just the same as a rich man. I had a family with my newsies. I did own Brooklyn, too. Back in those days if people heard my name they would’a wet their pants. I had all my dreams, ‘Tonio. Didn’t need no more,” Spot said, spilling his emotions for the first time in years.

 

“You never loved,” Race countered. 

 

“I loved you,” Spot confessed, “I still do.” 

 

Suddenly, Race’s lips were on Spot’s, a perfect match. It had been something both boys had wanted while living, but both were terrified of the consequences. The kiss was impulsive, yes, but not unwelcome. Race suddenly pulled away.

 

“Sorry. That was impulsive and dumb,” He apologized.

 

“Race,” Spot objected, “Most of our decisions are impulsive and dumb. But they’re good. And that was,”

 

“Are you sure you-” Race began, only to be cut off by the other boy pressing their lips together once again. This kiss was shorter than the last, but still just as good, if not better. 

 

“Yes,” He breathed out, allowing his face to display all of his emotions for the first time since he was a child. Their lips met again, and everything else around them fell into place. Both boys were sure they were in heaven. 

**Author's Note:**

> request some stuff on tumblr @juliawritessometimes !! pl ease


End file.
